"I'm particularly fond of the battlements, they seem such a great height up," she added aloud, leaning over the wooden railing which guarded the parapet.
He glanced hurriedly down, as if measuring the distance to the courtyard beneath, then turned to her with a marked uneasiness in his gaze.
"It's really nicer below on the grass," he urged. "Won't you come down and try the difference?"
"No, thanks, I prefer remaining here," replied Mildred, hoping that her unwelcome companion would depart by himself to test the superior merits of the courtyard.
To leave her, however, did not seem to enter his calculations. He stared at her again, with a queer look, almost of apprehension, fidgeted a little, coughed, turned rather red, and finally remarked shyly:
"They're waiting for you in the hall."
"Who?" asked Mildred.
"Why, the seneschal and the Baron, and the retainers, and—er—the jester, and all the rest of them."
"There! He's begun on the mediaeval topic!" thought poor Mildred. "He's evidently as mad as a hatter. I mustn't irritate him. Diccon said he grew very violent if contradicted. I must try and humour him."
"The Baron may wait my pleasure," she replied, with an attempt at what she hoped was the hauteur of a grande dame of the Plantagenet period. "As for the rest, they are but vassals and serfs."